the feeling came - that i can simply pack everything in one bag and go. in my muscle memory i carried a map, courage lighting the palms of my hands for guidance, in the infinity of my heart i stayed safe, i was nourished.
a door knock.
i wrote down a list of things to pack in my bag. water, bottles of my favorite (easily accessible) drink, food to snack on (balanced with sugar and fat), change of clothes and soap. i packed my journal and pen. on the long metro ride, i was thankful once again for the public transport i'd been missing for many years in southern california. goodness forbid the freeway system - that's half of america.
i sat next to a girl who seemed to be dozing off. she was quiet, still. when she reached her stop, she looked at the book i was reading. then i saw a look in her eyes. it was contemplative, questioning. in a movie, she would have talked to me instead of getting off at her stop. i wondered if she looked at me when i looked away.
several girl-boy couples followed, they waited at the same bus stop to get to the park. a guy in one of the couples was upset, was performing hard-to-get. the girl talked to him sweetly, "are you upset? are you going back home already?" he didn't budge, he just wanted the attention as long as he could get it. i felt safe with these couples on the bus, as i usually do. it eliminates the possibility of anyone hitting on me and vice versa.
i sit on a rock finishing my first bottle. i check the schedule, making squiggles and circling every show i want to see. i follow my gut feeling, i follow the words. a group of four men sit in front of me waiting for the first show to start. three of them drink the same beer. walking around the park reminds me of the days i'd roam around alone looking to score. i'd find a sketchy music event and encounter an ugly-pink bunny with torn-out eyes dancing like a creature on special k. i go for free street parking clinking heels on the pavement, checking cigarettes in my bag. this time, instead of a scanty minidress, i'm in stretchy purple pants with a scarf in case of the cold at 5 in the morning. i carry a 1.5-L water bottle instead of carcinogenic sticks. i find myself in a huge park with a lake, trees, lawn, mountains in the background. this is the spot i want to come back to when having fantasies at night. this is the place i will come back to when i'm panicking.
i'm already a child ready to play, in the sand, in the water.
her whole body painted in white, a butoh dancer in korea. flowers in yellow, green and purple are resting in a toilet while she digs, bows, walks. i notice her shoulders - thick, strong with years of stories to tell. dancing becomes her way of being. tears burst in unexpected places, i watch her upside down, stuck and pulled in firmly, but the flowers. beauty in destruction never fails to stimulate imagery. she nods her head as she walks off stage.
when disability becomes art, when what most people see as disability becomes precious sources for movement, what do you say? he says he has to keep moving, keep walking forward. would he tell me that if he saw my legs dangling off the edge? pulling a roll of toilet paper with his mouth, fingers occupied exploring the air, are you leaving a trace or are you marking a road that wasn't there before? you walk off stage as if you've never left. your presence stings my chest, the container of my hollow inside bursts, dissipating the border that once separated the inside from the outside. i'm free falling once again.
i have an hour before the train. i walk back to the station, retracing the bus route. in the magical hour from 4 to 5 am, i'm back in the east coast - the outskirts of cambridge, how far have i traveled? there's a forest beckoning me behind a long, steep flight of stairs. it's deep. once i enter it, i won't be on time for my train. do i enter... you, or do i leave like a coward? you're beautiful - the kind one notices instantly from standing across the room, the kind that shatters when the tongue attempts to hold, the mesmerizing kind that leaves no marriage or children as an option for proof.
finally there it was, there you are...
p.s. remember 4+ performance, pink flashlights, his act in the mirror, outside the mirror. when he lightly touched your cold hands whispering earnestly to come with him "tonight"
No comments:
Post a Comment